I push my tongue into her mouth, swiping it across hers. She’s frozen, and I take advantage, kissing her like she’s never been kissed before. Hard. Punishing. I fuck her mouth like I’m going to fuck her pussy one day. And I will.

Poppy Beckett will give me everything.

She’ll say yes because she has to. There is no other way.

While she’s stunned and coming to terms with our arrangement, I grab her round ass and lift before sliding my palms beneath her thighs, spreading her for me. The moment my cock presses against her heat, she moans.

Too easy, Poppy.

I rock my hips against her, loving the way her breath hitches each time I press against her clit. Her pussy is drenched—thanks to the ecstasy still running through her veins—and she claws at my shoulders.

“Let me go,” she moans against my mouth. “I hate you.”

I laugh as I press kisses along her jaw to her ear. “Hate can be just as hot as love.”

It doesn’t take much effort before Poppy comes apart at my touch. Her head bumps against the wall, and she screams with pleasure. I don’t give her time to recover before I drop her to her feet and walk away. When I glance over at her, she looks like a delightful mess. Her chest rising and falling as she pants. Hair wild. Cheeks crimson. If I weren’t so controlled in my plan, I’d walk right back over there and fuck her like she wants.

Oh, and does she want.

Her blue eyes blaze with lust. Swollen, pink lips part. Hell, she’s not even hiding her nudity from me. Every creamy curve is on full display. One day, I’ll nip and suck on every part. One day. Just not today.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” she mutters, her arms crossing over her chest to try to hide herself from me.

Too bad I’ve seen it all, sweetheart.

“Get dressed. I’ll fill you in on the way home.”

She blinks at me and shakes her head. “I’ll call a cab.”

I pick up her discarded skirt and toss it on the bed. “No, you won’t. I wouldn’t go through all this trouble without reason. Get dressed and let’s go. Move your ass, woman.”

Fire blazes in her stare, but the tears never come. I’m thankful. Poppy was always a good target because she is strong. Most women would be a blubbering mess. I need her to remain rigid. I want to break her—and nobody wants to break something soft.

She dresses quickly, then starts hunting for something. I throw on my clothes and hold up her phone.

“Looking for this?”

She glowers at me. “Mateo must be worried sick.” She looks over at the bedside clock and shudders. “It’s eleven. I was supposed to come over after my appointment with the wedding planner that I missed. I’ll bet he’s sent out a search party by now.”

I almost feel bad for her.

“Actually,” I reveal with a wicked grin, “he never even texted.”

Her lashes flutter as her brows crash together. “Whatever. He’s worried sick.”

“He’s not.”

I offer her phone in the palm of my hand. She storms over to it, trying to take it, and I seize the opportunity to pull her against me. Her mouth pops open in shock when I grab a handful of her ass.

“He never called or texted,” I say again. “How does that make you feel?” I’d expected him to worry, and when he didn’t reach out, it made my job easier.

Her nostrils flare, and the tip of her nose turns pink. She chooses this moment to burst into tears. My chest feels tight, but I ignore it. I release her and give her back her phone. She frowns as tears roll down her cheeks, all the while looking for evidence he tried to make contact. Then, she finds what I want her to.

“What’s this?” she chokes out.

“The start of our illicit affair,” I say, chuckling.

From the moment I got her in my car this afternoon and she passed out—thanks to the sleeping pill I’d given her in place of her migraine medicine—I texted back and forth between our phones. Documented how the affair started the night of the governor’s birthday party. How we hooked up in the bathroom. That the secrets are too hard to keep from everyone. Some of the same pictures she deleted on my camera roll had been texted between us. Basically, an entire day of communication from us.

“You asshole,” she snaps. “All this for my pussy?”

Shaking my head, I open the door and usher her out of the hotel room. “Don’t flatter yourself, Popps. Your pussy is just a perk of our arrangement.”

* * *

She ignores me the entire way to her apartment. This time, I park and follow her inside. I expect a fight, but she’s still groggy from the medicine. Once inside her place, she motions to the couch before disappearing into her room. The shower turns on, so I make myself at home. Just as I knew, her home is colorful and fun. Plants line the windows. The walls are painted in pretty reds, oranges, and yellows. It’s all very Bohemian and unlike Poppy. The girl who lives outside these walls is pastel and a fucking bore. The girl who lives within them is colorful and fun.

While she showers, I scrounge around in her refrigerator. Finding some leftovers that don’t look old, I set to microwaving them for her since she hasn’t eaten. Earlier, while she slept, I took Nellie to dinner like I promised. The girl practically threw herself at me in the car after, trying to kiss me. I told her when I really like someone, I like to take it slow. She seemed unsure how to take my words. And when I dropped her off, she tried to reel back in the fact that she was ready to whore herself out to me and pretended to be demure. Batted her lashes. Smiled prettily. Asked me to call her.

I deleted her number.

Nellie was just an alibi.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I’m thrilled to see it’s one of my college buddies, Cronk. Cronk isn’t his real name, but his real name is unimportant. It’s what kind of friend he is that is important. Cronk is a hacker.

Cronk: Your request has been completed. I wish I could bleach my eyeballs. You owe me, fucker.

And I do—which is why I wire him eighty thousand for his troubles, instead of the forty promised. He’ll send me a “receipt” for a small yacht so it’ll look legit to the IRS if they ever come sniffing around. You can never be too careful.

Me: See some old guys in speedos at the beach?

Cronk: Four of them. Filthy as fuck.

The information Cronk has uncovered will be saved to a flash drive and mailed to Nixon under the guise of a birthday present for me. Nixon will unknowingly keep it until I need it. The information will be safe.

Pocketing my phone, I walk into the living room, set Poppy’s food down on a pile of magazines, then locate some wine. I bring the bottle and a glass. She’s going to need it. I settle myself in the middle of the couch to wait for her. A few moments later, she stomps in looking closer to my age than her own. For a second, I’m caught by how gorgeous she is when she’s being the real Poppy Beckett. Her wet hair is pulled into a messy bun. The makeup on her face has been scrubbed clean. She wears a sweatshirt several sizes too big and some tight yoga capris. My dick twitches in appreciation.

I pat the cushion beside me. “Come eat, beautiful.”

She scowls, but obeys. Good girl. Her body settles beside mine and she gobbles up her food. As she finishes, I pour her some wine. I watch with amusement as she guzzles it down. So petulant. It makes me want to spank her. With a smile, I pour her another glass.

“Careful,” I say lowly. “If you lose your senses again, I will take advantage. It’s in my nature. This time, rather than my tongue, it’ll be my dick inside you.”

Her pale cheeks redden, and she flips me off. “Go to hell.”

“I want meetings with some influential political players,” I tell her, cutting straight to the chase. When I rattle off the names of the police commissioner, the mayor, a senator, and a judge, she frowns.

“All this because you want to meet with them? For what? To have a flawless résumé?” Her voice is shrill. “You’re a sociopath.”

I laugh and shrug. “I think the term you’re looking for is psychopath. And my reasoning is unimportant to you. All you have to do is obey.”

“Or what?” she challenges, her nostrils flaring.

“Or I expose your illicit affair to every news and media outlet in the country.”

“People have affairs all the time,” she bites out. She downs the rest of the wine and wisely sets the glass on the table.

“But most of them are with consenting adults.”

“As are we,” she screeches, her face turning red with anger.

“But what about when you were my babysitter, Poppy?”

She blinks at me in horror. “Gross. I would never…don’t even insinuate something so sick.”

My mind floods with my own sick past. It strengthens my resolve. “The media would have a field day with that. Your opponent would crucify you with that information.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” she asks, her voice cracking as more tears well in her eyes. One spills out and races down her pink cheek.

I reach up and swipe it away with my thumb. “You’re just a tool with a purpose.”

Stars glitter in my vision when she slaps me. “Fuck you.”

Gripping her throat, I push her down onto the couch, pinning her beneath me. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t fight me off. My hand relaxes, and I use my other one to stroke her cheek. “That’s the other part of our agreement.”

“What?”

“If you don’t get me the meetings I need within one week, we will officially begin our affair.”

“I won’t have sex with you. Not willingly.”

I smirk at her. “You will. I could fuck you right now and you’d be okay with it.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’ll tell Mateo everything.”

“He won’t believe you. He already puts up with you. You’re a child to him. A pretty little plaything who looks good on his arm.”

More tears leak from her eyes. “I’ll break up with him. Then your threats will mean nothing.”

I lean forward and kiss her pink nose. “Even if you broke up with him, you’ll still do what I say. You want to be lieutenant governor and keep your name from getting smeared.”

“I can handle a little heat,” she challenges.

“There is so much more you can’t handle, Poppy. So much more. And if I were to show you, you’d fucking die of mortification. Don’t make me ruin you publicly. I would fucking delight in it, understand? Don’t push me. You do as I say, I delete everything and go away.”

“Just like that?” she breathes.

I run my thumb over her lips. “Just like that.”

“When I get you those meetings, I want you gone from my life.”

“My pleasure. Your life is the last place I want to be.”

I press a kiss to her pouty lips, and then release her. She remains lying on the sofa staring up at me in confusion as I rise and head for the door.

“One week, Poppy.”